


Convict for Hire

by Velto



Category: Treasure Planet (2002)
Genre: Alien/Human Relationships, Crimes & Criminals, Crush at First Sight, Crushes, F/M, Major Original Character(s), Original Character(s), Original Female Character(s) - Freeform, POV Female Character, POV Original Character, POV Original Female Character, Slow Burn, Temporarily Unrequited Love, Treason, Treasure Hunting, Unrequited Crush, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-09
Updated: 2019-01-09
Packaged: 2019-10-07 05:11:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17359625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Velto/pseuds/Velto
Summary: Desperately in need of a job and a good cover to escape from the closing Navy forces, Evelyn Jones turns back to the docks. After eight years gone, it's almost too good to be true, until she realizes how difficult it will be to get an honest job with her... history. She realizes she might have to start looking for something a little more... in her area. She finds a quick witted Ursine in need of an extra crew member and another cook. He'll have to do.  (Old writing I found while looking through my computer. May or may not continue.)





	Convict for Hire

**Author's Note:**

> I found this and three other works in my computer from nearly two years ago, and decided, "Why the hell not?" So, here I am, posting these in hopes that someone will appreciate them, despite their oldness.

Never, had Evelyn Jones ever expected to meet an Ursine in her lifetime. They were said to be nearly extinct, with only a few hundred spread across the universe. Those who were alive quickly found fortune, due to their rare nature and naturally resourceful personalities, and were living like kings in whatever galaxy they were lucky enough to stumble into.

Even without their rarity, they were a rather interesting species. From what she had read or heard, males grew quite large, some reaching six or seven feet, with broad, muscled shoulders and a barrel like chest to match. Their skin was dark umber, with three or four different shades and dark stripes across their ribs and backs. Though not covered in fur like the name might suggest, their massive arms impressed anyways, leading down to thick, claw tipped hands. Every bit of them was built with powerful strength rippling just below their leathery skin.

The specimen in front of her showed the rumors gave little justice. 

He was easily eight feet tall, his hatted head having to duck to not hit the doorway as he lead her inside the captain's quarters; his quarters. His one organic arm was sculpted muscle all the way down to the fingertips, thick and heavy. The mechanical arm-the right-shone with light seeping through the long window, moving just as smooth as the organic, nearly smoother. The mechanical leg was the same, reaching up to his hip from what it looked like. 

He shoved his right hand into the large pocket of his long, black trench coat; the pocket had stretched for the size of the mechanical wrist and hand, though enough that much of it hung loose. Something else has stretched it so large. Had he replaced the old arm with a newer? Did he replace his leg as well? What had happened that would cause him to get rid of such things? They had to feel just as much a part of him as the left arm and leg. Jones found herself nearly desperate to know. 

Turning, the bright yellow glow of a cybernetic eye centered on her. She wondered what had caused him to need all of the replacements, especially all on the same side, "So, I trust you know I can't just let you on if you have no experience. You must be, what, 17, 18?" 

"25, sir." Jones corrected politely, tipping her head with a smile. It was a rather common mistake. 

"25? You look way below your years, lass. Now, you ever been on a ship before? Not just taking a cruise between cities as a passenger, or working as a table maid. Do you know anything about running a ship?" He asked, aimlessly fiddling with the instruments on his desk. She found it hard not to stare at the dark skin of his hand and the tendons beneath as his fingers picked at and nudged things around.

"Uh, yes sir." She said, "Worked on the same ship eight years when I was young, learned just about everything."

He smiled, eyebrows rising, "Eight years, huh?" Jones' eyes locked onto his slightly elongated canines and the tongue behind, and she swallowed thickly, "Well, you'll definitely be ahead of most of the crew. How about your arm? How are you in a fight? It's not a rare thing when we get a jumped by some ragged gang or tipped to the Navy. Don't wanna have'ta throw you're corpse overboard the second we run into a little trouble."

Forcing her eyes away from his mouth, she said, "I've learned to hold myself well. I'm confident enough I could get the job done." She of course didn't tell him that it had been a little over six years since she had touched a gun or a sword. Her last fight had been a bar brawl hardly worth mentioning. You can't have a fist fight with the Navy without getting shot in the face.

He hummed in thought, stealing his hand away from the desk, "How long can you stay out? Our trips can last pretty long. Any family you got around might start gettin' a little fussy." He lifted his black hat, shuffling the thick brown hair beneath.

Jones licked her sticky lips, "I don't got any family to be bothered with. I can stay out as long as I'm needed." He didn't ask further on the subject, replacing his hat back on his head.

"One last thing, and then I think I might just hire you." Jones crossed her fingers. She needed this job. Not only for the money, but she needed to get off planet. Last time she checked, by ship was the fastest way to do that, "Can you cook?" Jones nearly laughed in surprise, stifling the sound with a low cough. He smiled, ignoring it, "We take shifts, for the most part. Hardly any of those blighters can cook a lick, leavin' most of the meals to myself and Mr. Tompardi. You'll be meetin' him shortly."

Jones clenched a fist to keep from pumping it into the air in victory. 'You'll be meeting him shortly', he'd said. He'd already decided; she was on the crew. For now. She had to remind her self. If he doesn't like what you do, he can always throw you off.

She couldn't let that happen. She couldn't go back to that jail, that cell, that complete and utter isolation from the Etherium. She just couldn't. 

So when she had worked up the courage to tell the truth, she was still worried he'd turn her away, "Uh... well sir.... I can really only bake. Sweets and the like. Cakes, breads, pastries... those sorts of things." Jones curled a hand around her arm, terrified he'd just kick her right off his ship before she could even blink.

Then he was laughing, practically stomping over to clap a hand on her shoulder and say, "Well finally! I've gotten sick of stews and musty old what nots! A croissant once in a while is something every man needs in his life!"


End file.
